#36 The Kraken Wakes
27/10/20 15:19
Oh God, oh God, I watched My Octopus Teacher and things may never be the same again.
I’d seen it floating round twitter for a while, and really only tuned in because of the wild swimming aspect – like the middle-class, middle-aged cliché I am, I’ve recently become a convert, have a hugely expensive wetsuit and enjoy going for hot chocolate after I’ve immersed myself. It gives you a buzz, stops you going senile, helps with mental health, looks cool on Instagram. The cold water, not the hot chocolate, though that’s very good too.
You certainly get the full immersion in My Octopus Teacher. Serious cold water. Craig Foster really takes a deep dive into that underwater kelp forest, without the aid of pricey neoprene. The drone shots of the churning sea from above are scary, but when he’s in there, surrounded by that undulating algae, it looks sort of cosy and cocooned. It’s helped by Craig’s laidback vocal delivery – his voice is soft like sand through your fingers, and when he flips down into the depths, there’s a grace to his movement that makes him seem truly one with the ocean. And then he becomes one with the octopus. And it’s mad and upsetting and beautiful.
Octopuses are alien life forms. Intensely antisocial, they hold their brains in their arms, use tools, can walk on dry land, recognise human faces. This particular octopus recognises Craig Foster, decides she likes him, and over the course of a year gives him an extraordinary glimpse into her world that is quite simply mind-blowing. Slack-jawed, I curled on the sofa and gradually dissolved into a weeping mess. How can I explain the way this 85-minute documentary unpicked me, its gentle tentacles probing, finding a way in, and then burrowing into my heart until I was a blubbering wreck? Stunning, intimate cinematography, wondrous wildlife and leisurely, highly personal storytelling is a potent combination, and there’s a rapturous quality to the whole thing that left me breathless, charged, and soaked in salty tears. Give me my own octopus to teach me about life, the universe and everything.
In many ways, as a natural history documentary, it’s a dud. Foster gets involved, he interferes, lets his emotions dictate his actions – everything you’re not supposed to do. But, but, but... Seeing someone connect so profoundly like that, seeing them fall so hard, for a fucking octopus, and absolutely buying it, every barefoot step of the way - THAT’S FILMMAKING. It’s a love story of the most magical, unusual kind.
My Octopus Teacher reminds you of the fragile, brutal, random nature of life – the delicate, intersecting pirouette that our existence hinges upon. Without that ocean, without the house of cards of sea creatures who sway and swoop through that pulsing mass… we’d be gone. We need them. And instead, we’re obliterating them. The tender, unfurling relationship between Foster and his octopus is the microcosm – we need to have his humble, awestruck, dizzying sense of responsibility, and apply that to everything we touch.
So firstly, I’m going to get back in the water. Then I’m going to have a hot chocolate. And then I’m going to try to approach everything in the same way that Craig caressed that groping tentacle. Curious, compassionate, infinitely blessed.
I’d seen it floating round twitter for a while, and really only tuned in because of the wild swimming aspect – like the middle-class, middle-aged cliché I am, I’ve recently become a convert, have a hugely expensive wetsuit and enjoy going for hot chocolate after I’ve immersed myself. It gives you a buzz, stops you going senile, helps with mental health, looks cool on Instagram. The cold water, not the hot chocolate, though that’s very good too.
You certainly get the full immersion in My Octopus Teacher. Serious cold water. Craig Foster really takes a deep dive into that underwater kelp forest, without the aid of pricey neoprene. The drone shots of the churning sea from above are scary, but when he’s in there, surrounded by that undulating algae, it looks sort of cosy and cocooned. It’s helped by Craig’s laidback vocal delivery – his voice is soft like sand through your fingers, and when he flips down into the depths, there’s a grace to his movement that makes him seem truly one with the ocean. And then he becomes one with the octopus. And it’s mad and upsetting and beautiful.
Octopuses are alien life forms. Intensely antisocial, they hold their brains in their arms, use tools, can walk on dry land, recognise human faces. This particular octopus recognises Craig Foster, decides she likes him, and over the course of a year gives him an extraordinary glimpse into her world that is quite simply mind-blowing. Slack-jawed, I curled on the sofa and gradually dissolved into a weeping mess. How can I explain the way this 85-minute documentary unpicked me, its gentle tentacles probing, finding a way in, and then burrowing into my heart until I was a blubbering wreck? Stunning, intimate cinematography, wondrous wildlife and leisurely, highly personal storytelling is a potent combination, and there’s a rapturous quality to the whole thing that left me breathless, charged, and soaked in salty tears. Give me my own octopus to teach me about life, the universe and everything.
In many ways, as a natural history documentary, it’s a dud. Foster gets involved, he interferes, lets his emotions dictate his actions – everything you’re not supposed to do. But, but, but... Seeing someone connect so profoundly like that, seeing them fall so hard, for a fucking octopus, and absolutely buying it, every barefoot step of the way - THAT’S FILMMAKING. It’s a love story of the most magical, unusual kind.
My Octopus Teacher reminds you of the fragile, brutal, random nature of life – the delicate, intersecting pirouette that our existence hinges upon. Without that ocean, without the house of cards of sea creatures who sway and swoop through that pulsing mass… we’d be gone. We need them. And instead, we’re obliterating them. The tender, unfurling relationship between Foster and his octopus is the microcosm – we need to have his humble, awestruck, dizzying sense of responsibility, and apply that to everything we touch.
So firstly, I’m going to get back in the water. Then I’m going to have a hot chocolate. And then I’m going to try to approach everything in the same way that Craig caressed that groping tentacle. Curious, compassionate, infinitely blessed.
- My Octopus Teacher, Netflix
